


Appreciation

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-01
Updated: 2007-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 06:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10781373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: There’s time for hope after the war is over.





	Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: **Beta:** [](http://florahart.livejournal.com/profile)[**florahart**](http://florahart.livejournal.com/)  
 **ABC Challenge:** A- Art for [](http://shiv5468.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shiv5468.livejournal.com/)**shiv5468**  


* * *

The air is heavy and smells like musty old socks. That’s the first thought that runs through Hermione’s mind when she enters the dark alley. It's full of shadows and dark corners, lit only by moonlight, and she instinctively tightens her grip on her wand as she surveys the area. She can practically hear Harry and Ron yelling at her for doing something this risky, but she’s grown rather adept at ignoring their warnings over the years when the situation requires reckless behavior. Well, not reckless since she tries to avoid actions that would be described as such, but it’s certainly more dangerous than meeting in a brightly lit pub somewhere safe, so perhaps her definition needs reevaluated.

That’s a thought for another time, though, so she focuses on the dark alley and debates whether to use _lumos_ or just blend into the shadows. During the last two years, she’s learned all about shadows and how to use them for her advantage. Hunting horcruxes has provided an education that Hogwarts never would have, which she’s still not certain she’s thankful for during sleepless nights. There are many times when she wishes she were back in the tower doing homework, clueless to the reality of war and not so hardened to loss and death.

It’s been years since she was that girl, though, and she’s honest enough to admit that that part of her died along with Diggory, when the knowledge that Voldemort was back was confirmed in such a horrid way. Ron thinks she’s scary now when she sees the names of former classmates on the list in the Daily Prophet and doesn’t react with any emotion, but he’s managed to keep a spark of life and hope that she and Harry lost ages ago. She envies him, yet she knows that she has to be strong or his hope will be pointless because they’ll lose this war. So, she offers faint smiles that haven’t reached her eyes in years and continues on the path that has been set for her since she first befriended Harry.

She’ll save her hope for the day the war ends.

There’s really no point in procrastinating, so she steps forward again, toward getting this meeting over. With each step she makes, she can hear the boys scolding her, calling her crazy, and asking her if she’s lost her mind. There are times lately when she’s begun to wonder if that isn’t a little too close for comfort, though she knows that’s just her greatest fear rearing its ugly head. Still, she pulls her cloak tighter and grips her wand so tightly that she’s surprised it’s not snapped in two.

The alley is deserted, not even the scurry of rats running through puddles disrupting the soft echo of her footfalls. She murmurs a charm to quiet them, pleased when there is true silence. She listens intently for any sound, ready to Disapparate should she find herself in a dangerous situation, and reaches the middle of the alley before she hears anything. A soft click is followed by a pale glow of candlelight as a door slowly opens. She looks around carefully, scanning the shadows for anyone lying in wait, but sees nothing except darkness.

While she looks, she runs the fingers of her empty hand along the edges of the rough parchment that she received that morning. She knows who sent it, of course, but she doesn’t trust him anymore now than she did nineteen months ago when she received the first invitation for a meeting. The Muggle location is common for these meetings, but he prefers midday to evening because it’s easier for both of them to get away. The time listed has her more suspicious than usual, even though she doubts it’s a set-up. There’s no reason to believe he’s suddenly handing her over to Voldemort, not when he’s had more than enough opportunities to attempt to do so in the past.

Finally, she walks to the door and casts a series of charms to detect any possible danger. Content that there’s no magic warding the area, she steps inside what she quickly realizes is a small Muggle art gallery. The walls are white with canvases that are full of bright colors and bold lines covering it sporadically. It’s such a surprise that she frowns and lowers her wand slightly.

“I could kill you.”

The words are spoken in a low, lazy drawl that’s far too smug. It causes her to tense as it always does, but she refuses to look at him or react with distaste. He’d just gloat at causing such an emotional display, after all, and she’s not about to let him accomplish that with four silly words. Instead, she keeps her gaze focused on a canvas of red and orange paint titled ‘Sunrise’. It looks like a child in primary school got into the paints, in her opinion, but it’s somewhere to keep her attention while she regroups.

“You could try,” she murmurs, turning her head to the side to see if she can figure out what the odd shape is supposed to be since it’s certainly not like any sun she’s ever seen. “However, it’s highly unlikely that you’d be successful, and then I’d be forced to kill you. Killing someone is quite bothersome when it’s unnecessary, so do save me the trouble of pretending to be guilty for causing your death and halt the posturing now before you annoy me.”

There’s a silence before he snorts softly. “You’re fortunate that I’m wearing my finest robes and don’t have any desire to have them coated in your dirty blood,” he says conversationally as he steps up beside her.

She glances at him discreetly, noting the circles beneath his grey eyes and the way his pale hair nearly matches the color of his skin. He looks at her and smirks, which makes the regal lines of his face come to life. “You look like death, Mister Malfoy,” she tells him bluntly, not giving him an opportunity to preen as if she’s looking at him because he’s handsome. While he is annoyingly good-looking and doesn’t at all look as if he’s nearing fifty-five, she has little use for such things. It’s his mind she’s interested in, after all, and what information he's willing to provide to help in the war.

“Perhaps I should lower myself to give you a gift of a mirror, Miss Granger. _Then_ you’d have an opportunity to see what exactly ‘death’ looks like every morning when you wake,” he says just as bluntly. There are no civil niceties to these meetings, which is something she finds comforting. If she and Lucius Malfoy were suddenly being polite and considerate, she’d know the world was about to end. His gaze moves over her swiftly and he frowns. “If you are supposed to support the would-be savior of this world, I’d suggest that you attempt to take some sort of care of yourself. After all, that Weasley vermin will be no help to Potter when the time comes, so the little brat will need you, much as it pains me to admit.”

“This looks like a paint spill and not at all like the sun,” she points out, watching him curiously in between glances at the artwork. He only arranges these meetings when there’s a need, since they're even more dangerous for him than for her. It’s entirely selfish, of course, as he’s simply ensuring that he has someone to support his claims of trading information to the Light Side because he’s realized that his Lord is unlikely to succeed in the end. There's also the matter of revenge, she suspects, after his wife was found dead and whispers attributed her death to the very people he supports with the Dark Mark on his arm.

Still, his information has proven useful and accurate every time, so she has little care for his actual motivations. It’s a time of war, which means black and white no longer truly exist. She understands this even if Harry and Ron still live in an idealistic world where Good is Good and Bad is Bad with no in between.

Malfoy looks at the canvas and his lip curls with distaste. “That’s because it was painted by a Muggle, Miss Granger. For every adequate painting in this repulsive world of your birth, there are a thousand that should be destroyed,” he declares. “Art should be beautiful or enhance the world around it, not be unpleasant and crude. However, we’ve not met for a lesson in art appreciation since I don’t have the time to actually educate you in such matters, and I’m fully aware your knowledge of true art is non-existent.”

She turns to face him and arches a brow. “Why did you choose this time?”

“Because, Miss Granger, this is when I was able to make myself available this evening. Contrary to your belief, I am not merely spending my days at leisure waiting for an opportunity to assist you. I find these meetings highly unpleasant and will therefore have them at least be convenient.”

“We share that opinion, Mister Malfoy, though I suspect it’s one of the few that we have in common.”

“This painting is much better, don’t you think? The lines are crisp and there is passion evident in each stroke of the brush,” he muses, indicating a painting of a seascape in pale moonlight. “I summoned you here this evening because I've recently learned that my Lord has acquired a spy within your ranks, Miss Granger. He has gained extensive knowledge of a plan by your Order to attack one of his bases outside Hastings next week and has begun taking measures to set a trap to remove as many of your side as possible. Should any actually survive, well, suffice it to say that they’d prefer to simply die in battle. Just look at the way that the light shines on the water, the soft glow that’s practically moving as you look at it for a period of time. To accomplish that without magic is almost worthy of respect.” There is no pause between Malfoy's startling news and his grudging appreciation of the Muggle painting before them, and it takes her a moment to process what he's announced.

The Hastings attack. Hermione blinks at the painting as she thinks over his words, a feeling of dread settling into the pit of her stomach. She’s suspected a traitor for months, but no one has listened to her ‘paranoid rantings’. Now, she has confirmation that she’s right, and the realization that she’s correct doesn’t bring elation, only the dread. “Do you have any information about who it is?” she asks quietly, already formulating a plan to remove the risk and get the plan to be changed without identifying her source.

“Unfortunately, I do not,” he says, looking away from the painting to stare at her. “I suspect that it’s a female, though I’ve no confirmation beyond instinct. I would suggest that you examine the habits of anyone privy to this attack plan and determine who is a possible threat. At that time, simple torture should bring about a confession from the appropriate culprit.” He pauses and frowns. “You will, of course, not trust any of them beyond Potter and that Weasley urchin. Any of them could be a traitor, Miss Granger, and you’ll do wise to remember that at all times if you wish to survive this war.”

It’s probably proof of how much the war has changed her that she doesn’t look at him in disgust when he suggests torturing suspects. She chooses to ignore the fact that she’s already cataloging a list of charms to use for that purpose, should the need arise. She looks at him and smiles wryly. “One would think you actually care if I survive the war, Mister Malfoy,” she tells him. “I’ve already taken precautions to guarantee that your assistance is acknowledged should I not survive, so you’ll not need to worry about that.”

“I have little concern of that, Miss Granger, as I trust that one such as yourself would have made arrangements,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He reaches over and runs a leather clad finger over her cheek before he grips her chin and raises her head slightly. She blinks up at him, surprised by his actually initiating casual contact of any sort, and watches his eyes narrow as he stares into hers. “However, I will find it a great inconvenience if you allow yourself to be killed before I’ve had an opportunity to provide you with the previously mentioned lesson in art appreciation. You do not wish to trouble me in such a way, I know, so there will be no daring acts or foolish bravery that result in your death. Now that we understand each other, I need to go home before my absence is noticed.”

“Of course, Mister Malfoy. I would so hate to be an inconvenience,” she says after a moment when she can finally find words and muster a slightly flippant tone. She watches him step back and smirk as he runs his gloved hand through his long blond hair. Focusing, she looks at the painting and considers the information he’s given her. “I shall take care of our leak before it causes anyone to drown.”

“Make sure that you do. And please do make an effort to look a little more alive for our next meeting. The circles beneath your eyes do nothing for you,” he points out brusquely. When he speaks again, she can hear the smile in his voice, which contradicts his drawling words. “Until next time, do try to stay alive, Miss Granger. Death is so mundane.”

“I shall do my utmost best to keep living, Mister Malfoy, if only to continue annoying you whenever the opportunity arises,” she says with a slightly fond smile that she covers by leaning forward so her hair falls around her face. She listens to the soft pop of Disapparition and waits for a moment, staring at the moonlight ocean on the canvas as she collects her thoughts. Once she’s properly filed each bit of information that was provided into the appropriate places in her mind, she focuses and Disapparates. She’ll think about art appreciation lessons later.

Now it’s time to go back to the boys and discuss the traitor in their midst.

End


End file.
